The Snowman

Whispers Beneath the Snow Chapter 1 The Journey BeginsThe sun cast a dull golden haze over the Himalayan foothills, where the last signs of civilization thinned into winding trails and whispering winds. A steel-blue SUV crawled up the narrow mountain road like a beetle among jagged rocks, carrying seven young souls hungry for adventure—and unaware of what watched from the high ridgelines.Inside the vehicle, heated breath fogged the windows. Despite the bitter chill outside, the mood was light."Guys, imagine the kind of reels we’ll shoot!" chirped Aanya from the backseat, holding her camera. “White snow, spooky vibes, and maybe even a yeti.”“Or frostbite and altitude sickness,” muttered Arjun, the eldest in the group at twenty-seven, and the unofficial leader. His face was already taut with focus, scanning the GPS and paper map spread on his lap.Sitting next to him, Meera elbowed him playfully. “Loosen up, Arjun. We’ve trained for this for weeks. It’s just a high-altitude trek, not Everest.”In the backseat, Ravi and Dev were arguing over whether to ration the chocolate bars. Nisha was curled up next to the window, sketching in her travel journal, while Tanu scrolled through old legends of the Himalayas on her phone.“Did you know,” Tanu said, raising her voice over the car’s hum, “there’s a village up here—Rilthang—it’s said to be cursed. They say the snows around it are haunted. Like, actual ghost stuff.”Nisha looked up, intrigued. “What kind of ghost stuff?”“People hear voices during storms. Some say the snow carries memories. There are stories about a creature that walks on two legs during full moons, covered in fur, eyes like burning coal. Locals call it the White Watcher.”“Cool,” Aanya whispered. “I hope it shows up in a selfie.”The SUV jerked as the wheels met a patch of icy rock, pulling the group from their conversation. Arjun slowed the vehicle. “We’re about twenty kilometers from Rilthang,” he said. “Last known motorable road. From there, it’s a five-hour hike on foot.”As the sun dipped below the jagged skyline, the valley began to change. The air thinned perceptibly. Shadows lengthened. Every tree became a silhouette. Snowfall began—not thick, just soft flurries that floated like ash.They stopped at a plateau where the road ended. A small wooden sign poked out from the snow:RILTHANG → 17 KM →The group stepped out, breathing in the biting air. Above them, the Himalayas rose like sleeping giants, silent and cold. No phone signal. Just the crunch of snow beneath boots and the hiss of the wind sliding through distant crevices.By early evening, the group reached the edge of Rilthang—a forgotten village nestled in a crescent valley between two ridges. Stone houses hunched low to the earth as if afraid of the sky. Smoke rose in lazy threads from chimneys, but the village felt oddly deserted.An elderly man in layered robes met them at the entrance, holding a lantern that cast a weak orange glow. His face was a leather map of age and caution.“You should not be here,” he said simply.Arjun stepped forward. “We have a permit to trek to Sarmath glacier. We planned to rest here overnight.”The man’s eyes narrowed. “Rest, then leave. Do not wander after dark. The mountain listens.”Before anyone could respond, he turned and hobbled into the darkness, his lantern bobbing like a will-o’-the-wisp.“That was welcoming,” Ravi muttered.They were given lodging in an old guesthouse by a quiet caretaker who never spoke more than a few words. Blankets were provided, and a single iron stove sputtered with warmth. Still, a deep cold seemed to sink into their bones.Meera looked out the window at the snows glowing silver under the moonlight. “Why do I feel like we’re not wanted here?”“Because we’re not,” said Tanu. “And it’s not just the people. I’ve been reading more about this place. Rilthang’s mentioned in some British explorer journals—one entry described it as ‘a valley where silence screams.’ Another said he woke up to a face outside his tent made of snow and bone.”Aanya grinned. “Sounds like something to vlog about.”But as night deepened, the air changed. A silence fell—thicker than before. Even the wind stopped howling.At 2:33 a.m., Nisha awoke to the sound of whispering. She opened her eyes to a moonlit room and a strange shadow flitting past the frosted window. She rose quietly, her breath forming clouds. The whispers were faint, like children murmuring in another room.Curious, she put on her boots and coat and stepped outside.The snow crunched lightly beneath her steps. The whole village was asleep. Yet she could hear the whispers still, drawing her toward the tree line.She walked for ten minutes, each step guided by a feeling she couldn’t explain. The moon hung low. The air became colder. Then, abruptly, the whispers stopped.She turned to look back—and gasped.There were no footprints behind her.None.